


Fading Bruise

by sweetiejelly



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pancakes and running, juice and rain. Noah waits for Luke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ladysonsie's birthday. Happy, happy birthday Steph! I tried to go with the rain motif since you like rain. In any case, love you and your words and omg, porn is hard. lol Hope this is okay and hope your year ahead is as wonderful as you. <333
> 
> Cross-posted to LJ [here](http://thehayloft.livejournal.com/30813.html) and [here](http://sweetiejelly.livejournal.com/171047.html).

Noah isn’t sure what possessed him to come out here. To come out and sit. Here, outside. Under the spread of an impending rain. The sky is bruised dark and colored smoky, like some naughty angel slipped a stocking over a hurt.

Noah has a hurt. But it isn’t the shape or color or weight of a bruise. It’s kind of invisible. If you didn’t know him and you saw him sitting there on the steps with his elbows on his knees looking pensive, you might think he was a young artist thinking over a storyboard or going over a stanza or humming some new lines of lyrics in his head. 

His feet are still though. So maybe it isn’t a song on his mind. All the same, his easy drape of t-shirt and shorts might fool you. They leave you with the visual of healthy, of whole, of long calves and strong arms. Noah has that natural bulk of a tree that’s been growing for years and will endure storm after storm, standing stoic, still.

Right now the storm is moving slow, so slow, like a herd of heavy sky elephants covered in soot. And Noah’s chin is lifted, watching. If you were close enough, you’d see the dark reflection of lashes in his eyes. It’d be like watching the ropes of a swing blowing over a lake, restless, a small ripple of disturbance in an otherwise oasis of calm.

Noah feels like that, like maybe inner-Noah is about to rip open the façade of outer-Noah and declare himself to the world with a scream. It’s just - he’s waited so long. Luke hasn’t come. Luke is attending to business back in Oakdale. And Luke is writing. That much he gets from the online footprints of Luke that he follows like a hound. Luke isn’t at the airport. Luke isn’t pondering what to pack for his trip. Luke Snyder is, according to his Facebook status, “making pancakes with Ethan.” Luke’s page is full of innocent updates like that. Luke is… well, it’d look like Luke is living his life without Noah just fine.

Noah scratches at a spot on his thigh. He could go running again. He’s been doing that, feet pounding pavement for distraction. He gets up early enough for it. Even on weekends. But it’s a Thursday afternoon right now. It’s a little past six (though the sky lies and says it’s about ten in the evening). He looks at his hands. They’ve been the only hands on his thighs, on his everything, since Luke. They miss holding Luke’s hands. They miss holding Luke’s face as he kissed him. They miss a lot of things.

The sky laughs at him, a toothless thunderous crack, smudgy black. And then the rain comes down in earnest, fat blotches staining his white tee slutty. Noah looks out towards the intersections. He has this romantic idea that if and when Luke should come, he’d catch him strolling down the street, his megawatt smile cracking his cheeks wide open. And Noah would smile back and force himself to walk up, not run. Noah would help Luke with his luggage. And Luke would slide his hands over Noah’s face and kiss him and Luke would tell him he missed him. And Noah would drop Luke’s luggage, drop all of their luggage, to kiss him back, lick his way into Luke’s mouth and write ‘Noah is here’ everywhere with the tip of his tongue. 

But that’s fantasy for you. They tend to stay in people’s heads.

Right now Noah is getting good and soaked through and _still_ , there is no one there, certainly no Luke at the intersections.

~~

Noah is making pancakes. It has nothing to do with Luke’s current Facebook status. No, none at all. He’s just got a hankering, that’s all. He adds a little pumpkin to the batter for variety. It turns a kind of golden hue like Luke’s hair, like Luke’s eyes sometimes when you catch them in the right light. Luke’s kind of shimmering changing fascinating like that. Noah feels his chest constrict, full of sooty heavy elephants fallen from the sky. He coughs, forces some air out of his lungs, like that might maybe ease the ache.

It doesn’t. But the pancakes taste delicious.

~~

Noah could feel the blood in his body wheezing, crying a little really, as he runs up the last slope on his trail. That would make it another day of six miles before eight in the morning. Right now he really wishes for rain, any stray finger of rain to descend from the sky and just touch him. He’s sure it would sizzle like a drop in a hot pot.

Need. It’s become need. Noah _needs_ a little relief. He could just stop, bend over and let his inertia weigh him down, sit his butt flat on the ground. He could do that. But then he might never get back up. It’s that thought alone (plus that of the ice cold bottle of juice in his fridge) that keeps him going. He pumps his arms in rhythm, keeps his form. It helps move him along a bit but god, everything still hurts.

He’s sweaty and huffing like a mother in labor when he reaches the steps of his apartment building. He bends and breathes. Little by little, his muscles stop crying and the after-run high, the relief spreads through him, liquid. His heartbeat slows. If he were Snow White, probably there would be little blue birds dancing about his head right now, singing.

Noah sinks a hand in his pocket and pulls out his keys. When a hand touches his arm, casual, easy, like it touches his arm every day, no big deal, Noah jumps. He honest to god does. And then he goes very still at the voice. “Noah, hey. It’s me.”

~~

Noah is sucking down the glass of juice like all his manners have flown out the window. Luke is in the restroom washing up. Not that he needs to. Luke looks absolutely perfect, if a little sleep deprived with those circles under his eyes.

Noah is a wreck. In no dream scenarios was he ever this filthy when he first sees Luke again. He’s not supposed to be blotchy and flushed and out of breath. He’s not supposed to be sweating so hard that he makes it looks like it’s been raining outside. He’s not supposed to be so distracted that he forgets to get Luke’s luggage for him until they’re there outside his door. And then his offer to ‘get that for you’ just sounds weak.

So, the script is torn. Noah has no script. He sets his glass down. At least now he’s not parched like mad. That’s something. Maybe he could actually get out a coherent sentence too.

Luke comes back into the room and smiles at him. It’s a little weird but Noah can’t tell exactly what’s so weird about the smile. He supposes he could be smiling weird too. But they’ve been apart so long that maybe a little awkwardness is warranted. “Do you want some juice?” He’s pretty sure that’s not the first thought in his head but it’s what escapes his mouth.

Luke’s lips twist, wiping out the weird from the smile so that it’s just a smile, brilliant and Luke. “You got some on your shirt.”

Noah looks down and sure enough, there’s a darker trail of wet down his wet tee. When he looks back up, Luke has advanced, just two paces away from him now. Luke reaches out, rubs two fingers down the juice stain. “You’re worse than Ethan.”

“I just – it’s hot.” Noah blushes. He’s not sure if that even makes sense. But Luke’s close and he smells so good.

Then Luke’s eyes meet his and in an instant change, mirth giving way to something weightier. “ _You’re_ hot.”

Noah doesn’t think. He bends his head and nudges Luke’s lips apart. Luke clutches at his shirt and kisses him back. It’s needy and heady and someone makes a sound somewhere in the back of his throat. Noah drags his tongue over Luke’s, a little flutter hello. He expects Luke to lick him back maybe, take this slow. But no, Luke sucks at the tip of his tongue, makes Noah hard all over. He swears his sweat is even standing at attention.

Luke nips at his bottom lip and sucks on it, little repetitive motions that make Noah lose his head. It’s easy to do with Luke, lose his head. He places a palm on Luke’s chest, rests his forehead on Luke’s. He opens his mouth to say something. _I miss you. I love you. I’m so glad you’re here. So I guess that’s a no on the juice, huh? Do you want to take a shower with me? How are you?_ But nothing comes out.

Luke licks his way back into Noah’s mouth, hot and insistent, _Luke_. “You look like sex all flushed and sweaty,” Luke tells him. And Luke takes his hands and places them on his ass. Noah couldn’t help the squeeze, involuntary. He backs Luke up against the fridge and hoists him high so Luke half straddles him. They’re not graceful, not in their hasty movements to press closer, kiss deeper. Luke kicks Noah at one point, and mutters “sorry baby, didn’t mean to.” And Noah melts at the ‘baby’ - that he still is.

They manage to push out of the way their zippers and shirttails and briefs. Luke’s hand strips them fast and rough. Noah lets his head fall forward on Luke’s shoulder. He bites into the hollow of Luke’s neck, kisses it better and moans into the skin. Luke’s cradling his head with his other hand, slender fingers working into his hair. Noah leans into the touch, leans into the touches everywhere.

When he joins his hand with Luke’s, Luke grins at him, mouth panting open, obscenely pretty. And Luke slicks their come over the heads of their cocks, tugging faster. Noah bites out a curse, bites out Luke’s name like it’s noun, adverb, adjective, verb, noun, noun, noun. _God._

They don’t last long. They never could, not like this. And especially not now. They spill fast and noisy over fists, over each other. And they cling together in the fuzzy aftermath. Luke kisses along Noah’s forehead, to Noah’s cheek. Luke pets at him languidly, like he used to on those afternoons they used to have to indulge in each other for hours and hours. Noah’s heart aches with the memory of it, with the hope of it again.

He turns his head and is rewarded with a light kiss on his lips. He stays there, lets it linger until they’re just brushing skin, sharing heat. He smiles when Luke smiles against his lips. “So…I think I’ll take that juice now.”

Noah snorts, steals another kiss before turning to oblige. 

Luke downs the drink much as Noah had earlier, all gulps. “We should probably shower.”

~~

The sky is dark for seven a.m. Noah turns off his alarm clock and goes back to cuddling Luke in his arms some more.

“It’s raining,” Luke’s lips move over his chest, a little ticklish, a lot arousing.

Noah looks out the windows and yes, it’s true. A light curtain of rain hangs from the clouds. “I guess we shouldn’t go outside.”

Luke nuzzles him and kisses his chest. “No.” He throws a leg lazy over Noah’s hip and rolls them, pinning Noah down. “We should stay right here.” He keeps kissing: nipple, shoulder, neck, the jut of a collarbone, the inner bend of an arm.

Last night they ran through the paces like a sprint, trying like mad to catch up. 

This morning Luke wants to take his time. He spreads Noah under him like a buffet, trailing touches every which where. He mouths over skin, over veins, over goose bumps and over pulse. He licks a line from the balls down, circles and kisses and sucks. Noah moans, a hand shooting up to grip his cock like he’s afraid he’ll come. Luke grins and spreads Noah open wider. He works in a wet thumb and licks in with his tongue.

Noah is tight. It’s another reason Luke is taking his time. Last night they’d jerked off and blown each other. Last night Luke only got so far as slipping one finger in before Noah came. Now Luke’s making sure he takes his time to open Noah up, to open Noah up for him.

Noah gives into it, gives into the pleasures of it. He’d spent hours once upon a time learning Luke’s body and his own and how they fit together like multi-purpose puzzle pieces. Luke’s so good at this, driving him to the edge and then pulling back, driving him crazy with those hands, with that mouth.

Luke’s slicking lube now, generous over his fingers and slippery inside Noah. “Luke, please,” Noah bites out. It’s been forever and god, he wants it. “Do it. I’m good.”

Maybe it’s the tone or how Noah’s lashes drag heavy over his cheeks but Luke moves a little faster, fingers tearing into the condom, slicking up more lube. He lines up and pushes in. And fuck, it hurts. Noah squeezes his eyes closed and breathes. Luke pets at his hips, at his stomach and makes reassuring sounds. Noah opens his eyes, relaxes enough for Luke to push in more. And then Luke’s not in far enough and Noah’s arching up and begging, fisting the sheets.

Luke slides all the way in and starts pumping his hips, little drags so the head of his cock bumps into a perfect spot in Noah repeatedly and spaced. Just. So. Noah feels the pressure build and build. He looks down at them joined and groans. This part always got him – that they click together perfectly, like they were meant to. Luke holds his hands and holds his gaze. They’re both panting, faces contorted in that almost, almost, god, just about.

“I missed,” Luke squeezes his hands, “this. You. Everything.”

Noah tries to say it back, but the orgasm hits him then, jerks his hips and scrambles his words.

He finds them in the sheets later, when their heartbeats have returned to normal, when he’s turned towards Luke, nose to nose with him. “I waited – I never – I missed you every day.”

Luke smiles at him, kisses him sweetly. “I love you, Noah. I never –” he taps his chest. “No one else is you for me. You know that, right?”

Noah’s stomach rumbles, loud in response.

Luke laughs. “Your stomach knows.”

“Then my stomach’s smarter than my brain.”

“Obviously,” Luke drags them out of bed and towards the kitchen. 

Noah only stops him once to kiss him and to say “I love you” back. 

It’s a start in any case. And the pancakes are delicious.


End file.
